


Call ‘Em Like I See ‘Em

by Whatsastory



Series: Trope Me, Baby, One More Time [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, They’re totally not boyfriends, unless?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatsastory/pseuds/Whatsastory
Summary: “You gonna start pullin' my fuckin' pigtails, Ian?" Mickey asks, ignoring the weird little way his stomach flips the longer Ian babbles on like a fucking lunatic.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Trope Me, Baby, One More Time [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668712
Comments: 20
Kudos: 307





	Call ‘Em Like I See ‘Em

"Definitely not my boyfriend," Ian says as he pulls a fresh t-shirt over his head. His jeans come next, and a brown leather belt gets fastened through the loops. 

"So, remind me again why you're spending every night at his place, then?" Lip asks and takes a drag off of his cigarette. 

Ian sighs and rolls his eyes. He's not sure how many times he has to go over this. He and Mickey fuck. He and Mickey are not a couple. It's not like Lip, or any of his other fuck head siblings for that matter, are a picture of monogamist bliss. 

"You want me to tell you about what he can do with his tongue?" 

"Prefer it if you didn't. But what, you just go over there, fuck, then go to sleep? Sounds kinda boring, dude. Especially since you're there for days at a time." 

Ian smirks and takes the cig from Lip and pulls on it, decides he's gonna keep it for himself. 

"Who says we only fuck once?" 

~

"Come play Call of Duty with me, fuck wad," Mandy demands, jamming on the XBox controller in her hand. She chews through a pizza roll, mouth open, grease dripping. 

"Can't, bitch. Gotta get ready. Ian's comin' over in a little bit." 

"Ugh. You know, I liked your boyfriend better when he was my boyfriend." 

"He's not my boyfriend. Wasn't yours, either, skank," he quips and steals a handful of her food for himself. 

"Hey, assfuck, that's not for you," she yells and kicks at him, keeping her eyes on the screen. "And please, he's so your boyfriend. He stays here more than I do."

"That's cause he's only fuckin' one guy. You're fuckin' a hundred." 

He gets a middle finger back, and he's lucky, because if he were anyone else she'd fully attack him. As it is, he doesn't get under her skin. She could probably beat his ass to the ground if she had to. 

"You realize you're only proving my point, right numbnuts?" 

"Bitch." 

It's weak, but what else can he say? 

~ 

Mickey feels spent and wobbly and a little like jello. His ass is sore and used, but fuck, it's good. Ian's next to him, chest rising and falling heavily, goofy fuckin' smile plastered against his dumb ass lips. 

"Damn, Gallagher," Mickey sighs and leans over Ian to grab his smokes from the shanty bedside table. 

"Just come out with it, Mick. Tell me how good I am," Ian grins and leans up to palm his cheek and face Mickey. 

"Fuck you is how good you are." 

"Mhmm. That's the point, isn't it?" 

"Fuck ever," Mickey says as he inhales, the cherry on the tip of the smoke igniting a vibrant red. 

"I want some of that," Ian tells him and just his chin out toward the cigarette. 

Mickey takes another quick puff and holds it out for Ian to take, but Ian doesn't make a move. Mickey waves it around and quirks a brow, and Ian is still stoic. 

"Hold it for me."

"Oh, fuck off. You gonna take it or not, man?" 

"Mic-key," Ian sing songs, voice soft and low. "Please hold it for me? Pretty please?" 

"Oh my god, you're the fuckin' worst. Insufferable. Irritating. Annoying. Awful-"

"Shut up and hold my cigarette, bitch," Ian cuts him off and Mickey wishes he could help it, but he laughs. Throws his head back and full on belly laughs, much to Ian's delight. 

"You get under my skin, I hope you know," Mickey complains, but soon he's holding the cig to Ian's mouth, grinning when his lips push against his fingers. 

"Yeah, Mick, you're under my skin, too." 

~

"Shh," Mickey shushes him and slams a handful of popcorn in his mouth. He tries to keep his eyes on the screen but Ian, fucking Ian, won't stop with his bullshit. 

"C'mon, Mick," he says, and makes like he's going for the popcorn, too, but he bypasses the bucket and instead goes for Mickey's thigh. 

"Will you knock it the fuck off? We're in public," Mickey gripes, but his voice is a little floaty, and Ian takes it as an invitation. 

"Never stopped us before," he husks and leans in, letting his breath ghost against Mickey's neck before his tongue darts out and licks a stripe below his ear. 

"Jesus, Gallagher. Why the fuck did I even pay for these tickets if you're not gonna watch the m...ovie?" 

"You didn't pay for shit. We snuck in, jackass. Now shut up and let me do what I want." 

Ian takes the popcorn from Mickey, puts it on the floor. Mickey licks his lips and looks around, but no one's looking at them. There's barely even anyone in their vicinity. Fuck it. Ian shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over Mickey's lap, grinning like the fucking Cheshire Cat when Mickey's breath hitches and he grips the arms of his seat. 

Ian's hand snakes it's way under the fabric and onto the denim covering Mickey. His fingers walk their way to Mickey's fly, and he drags the zipper down slowly before dexterously popping the button. 

"You still want me to stop, Mick? Cause I will, if you want," Ian says. "But I'm planning on making you come if not." 

Mickey breathes out harshly through his nose and grips the chair even harder. "I'll fuckin' deck you if you stop now." 

So Ian keeps going. He works Mickey hard and fast and quiets him when he moans with a kiss. He bites at his lips and lets his hand fly, up and down and swirling at the tip. He's a fucking pro at it and Mickey is fucking gone, body spasming as he finishes. 

His smile is bright and toothy when he wipes his hand off on Mickey's jeans and picks the popcorn back in his own lap and takes a bite. He keeps his eyes on the screen, cool and calm while Mickey tries to control himself. 

"You fucking suck, Gallagher," he says with a laugh. 

"Kinda hoping you'll be the one sucking later." 

~   
"Oh, come the fuck on!" Mickey yells. "I can see that it was outside from way the fuck up here!" 

Ian smirks at him, eying him from the side. He slugs back a gulp of his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand to hide his smile. He never would have guessed that Mickey could be so invested in baseball. 

"Fuckin' ump needs one of those god damn blind canes." He was never one to be politically correct, but Ian chooses not to pick a fight. 

A man a few rows up from them turns around and gives Mickey a glare, which thankfully, he doesn't see. Ian does, though, and he raises an eyebrow at the guy until he turns back around and minds his own fucking business. 

A couple more beers go down both of their throats, and Ian feels great. Floaty and happy, and just good. Even better when Mickey laughs, hits at his arm and points down to the field with his exaggerated commentary. 

"Fuckin'... second baseman is a fuckin' joke, man. Look at him. Like fuckin' big bird or some shit. Couldn't be more uncoordinated if he tried." 

The same guy from before, that stupid fucking pigeon faced fuck turns around again, red and sweaty and just... fucking stupid. His looks match his smarts, as attributed by the way he opens his mouth. 

"Can you shut the fuck up?" He yells, and Mickey's smile only widens. 

"Can you come the fuck up here and make me?" Mickey yells back as he stands up and spreads his arms open in invitation. 

"Sit down you ignorant fuck!" 

The smile drops from Mickey's face like a lead fucking ball. Just... there one minute and gone the next. His thumb goes up to his lip, dragging across it slowly and tauntingly. Ian's stomach twists. 

"Mick, just leave it," Ian whispers, hand reaching out to grab Mickey's arm. "Fuck him," he says louder. 

Mickey looks from Ian to the guy, and back to Ian. Ian, with his sweet and pleading eyes, begging him not to worry about it. 

"There's a shitty bar a couple of blocks from here. We could head on over. Get out of here," Ian suggests, and finally Mickey nods. 

"Yeah. Fuck ever." 

Ian lets Mickey lead down the stairs. Mickey stops for just a moment, squares up to the guy before he breaks out into a grin before he winks and keeps walking. Ian's proud of him. Mickey's grown up a lot. 

Ian follows behind, a few steps away when he hears it. 

"White trash piece of shit," the guy murmurs, but not low enough. 

Ian doesn't think. Doesn't breathe. Can't hear, can't see anything other than red. But he feels it; the explosion of pain in his knuckles as his fist connects with the mouthy guy's fucking jaw. 

"Fuck!" He yells and shakes out his fist, then, "Go, go!" 

"Jesus Christ," Mickey squeaks, and then his feet are pounding down the steps.

They scramble, legs aching and chests heaving as they go. They thunder down the corridor and don't stop until they're well out of the stadium, where they slump forward to try and catch their breath. 

"You fucking hit him!" Mickey says through a laugh that boarders in hysterical. "You're so fucking stupid!" 

"Yeah, well." Ian looks over his hand and shakes it out again. Mickey takes a step forward and looks Ian's hand over for himself, gleeful smile never leaving. 

"Fuckin' stupid," he says again, and he can't hold back anymore. He grabs Ian and pulls him down, kissing him like he needs him just as badly as he needs oxygen. It heats up quickly, neither one remembering that they're in the middle of a fucking street... until they do. 

Ian pulls away, laughing now, too. He puts Mickey in a headlock because apparently he's fourteen years old. But apparently Mickey is, too. He pushes Ian away and takes off down the street as fast as he can. 

"Come on, Gallagher!" 

~  
There's a party. An impromptu little thing at the Gallagher house. There's booze. There's music. There's weed. It's a good time. Ian's already drunk when Mickey gets there.

He's in the kitchen with Lip and Kev and a couple of other stragglers, but Mickey doesn't pay them any mind. Ian's got a beer in one hand and a bottle of something dark in the other. He throws his head back as he laughs, something deep and loud, and Mickey stands at the edge of the kitchen and watches. Mickey can't help but smile, it's nice to see Gallagher so happy. 

"Your boyfriend's here," Lip tells him and points Mickey out. Ian whips around with sparkling eyes and every single one of his teeth showing through his smile. 

"Mick!" He yells gleefully and stumbles over, wrapping an arm around Mickey and giving him a sloppy, alcohol tinted kiss. His tongue tastes like tequila, but it's okay, Mickey kisses back anyway. "'M so glad you're here. Missed you... y'wanna drink?" 

"I'm gonna need at least a couple to deal with your drunk ass," Mickey teases.

"Think I'm the one that usually deals with your ass, huh?" 

Mickey knocks a few back, but he doesn't get nearly as gone as Ian. Ian, who keeps going. Ian, who is a slurring, stumbling mess, but it's all good. It's nothing Mickey can't handle. 

"Y'know wha', Mick?" Ian asks as he plops down on the couch next to Mickey, slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in close. He smells like a fucking distillery and it makes Mickey's nose burn a little, but the dopey fucking look in Ian's eye forces him to deal with it. 

"What's that, Gallagher?" 

"Think I r-eally like you. You're jus' like, you are... you. An' it's good. You're good. I like it. You." 

Mickey chuckles and slaps Ian's knee. "Yeah, man. I like you, too." 

"No. I mean. I like you. Like. A lot." 

"You gonna start pullin' my fuckin' pigtails, Ian?" Mickey asks, ignoring the weird little way his stomach flips the longer Ian babbles on like a fucking lunatic. 

"Shut up. I'll, I'll pull somethin' else, 'f ya want?"

Mickey snorts and shakes his head. Only fucking Gallagher. 

"Nah, man. You're fuckin' plastered."

"No'm not. You are," Ian grins and fucking boops Mickey's god damn nose like a freak.

"You think maybe you're ready to get the fuck to bed?" Mickey smirks and Ian grins wider. 

"Oh, yes. Yes. I. Am." 

Mickey lets Ian use him as a full blown crutch. Getting up the steps would be a hell of a lot easier if Ian would just let him fireman carry him, but no, because he, 'C'n wal...k jus' fine, Mick!' So it's a slow process. They fall into the wall a few times, but Mickey steadies them and keeps them moving toward Ian's shared bedroom. 

He lets Ian fall onto his bed with a grunt, and for all intents and purposes, Ian's dead to the world. He looks... fucking cute. He looks cute laying there with his mouth open and pooling drool into his pillow, with his face and body relaxed and calm. He's something else, and Mickey hates it, but he can feel his eyes go all soft around the edges when he looks down at him. 

He runs his hand through Ian's messed up hair and, ugh, he leans down to give him a kiss before he clicks out the lights and heads for the door just as quietly as he can manage. 

"You... are not stayin'? Mick?" Ian mumbles and Mickey whips around. 

"Nah, man. Was gonna let you sleep this shit off." 

"Nooo," he whines. "Wan' you t'stay." 

"Alright, calm your fuckin' tits," Mickey's sighs and saddles back up to the bed. He keeps his clothes on, because the last thing he's gonna do is fuck with Ian's whiskey dick, but he takes his shoes and socks off and pushes Ian over to make room for himself. 

Ian comes back over faster than Mickey thought was possible in his state. His body covers Mickey and breathes his flammable breath all over his neck and face. Whatever. If this is the worst thing that Mickey has to deal with, then shit's going pretty well. 

"Mick, 're you my boyfriend?" Ian asks quietly and Mickey's body freezes up. Every muscle that he can control tenses and his jaw locks up tight. 

"I, uh, what?" 

"Boyfriend. I want... you t'be. Y'know. Not just fucking anymore." 

It's dark in the room, and there's no way that Ian can see Mickey's face, but his eyebrows go up anyway. 

"Let's talk about this tomorrow, aight? So you can fuckin' remember it and I won't have to repeat myself." 

"You're gonna say yes. Know you will." 

Mickey doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't really need to. Ian's snoring in his ear in no time, blissfully unaware of the awkward position he'd put Mickey in. 

But really, is it awkward? Mickey has a bad day, he calls Ian. Has a good day, calls Ian. Is bored, calls Ian. Everything is always Ian. His plans. His fucking sex life. His thoughts. His plans. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad? 

~

"You spend all your time with your boyfriend," Mandy complains after Mickey tells her he's heading out for the night. 

"Yeah? Maybe I like him more than you, bitch." 

"I like him more than I like you, too, dickhead. Stop hogging him."

Mickey laughs, flicks her forehead and takes off before she can retaliate. Bitch fights dirty, and he doesn’t want to meet up with Ian with a fucking bruised crotch. 

“Find your own man, whore.” 

He’s gone before she can say anything back. 

~

“You headed out?” Lip asks he leans up against the door frame to the bathroom where Ian stands at the sink, shaving what little stubble he’s grown over night. 

“Mhmm. Meeting up with Mickey.” 

“How’d you end up with Mickey fucking Milkovich for a boyfriend?” Lip scrunches up his face as he says it, and Ian prickles with annoyance. 

He washes off the shaving cream and wipes his face with a towel, shoving past Lip and to his bedroom. 

“Guess I’m just lucky,” he tells him without a trace of sarcasm.

**Author's Note:**

> Got a trope-y prompt for me? Let me know!


End file.
